


Light

by Morpheus626



Series: Lee's Rock/Queentober 2020 [18]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: FTM Reader, M/M, trans reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27068425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: Assigned band member: RogerSynopsis: Roger/Trans M Reader. Set about 1978 because I wanted it to be lol. You’ve hit a rough patch in life as of the last few days, but at least you have your health, your things, and a cigarette or two that you can smoke to deal with the stress. That you should meet Roger is pure chance, but lucky chance indeed.TW: Cigarettes and smoking, mentions of fears over period typical homophobia and transphobia. Mention of potential homelessness.
Relationships: Roger Taylor/Reader
Series: Lee's Rock/Queentober 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950265
Kudos: 12





	Light

“Got a light?” 

You shake your head and raise your own unlit cigarette. “No matches, lighter is empty. Been hoping someone else would happen along with a light.” 

“Aren’t we a pair then?” he smiles, and you can’t help but feel a bit dazzled. Even with sunglasses hiding part of his face, you can tell he is perhaps one of the prettiest men you’ve ever met. With blonde hair artfully ruffled (though he almost certainly didn’t do it on purpose, if you had to guess), a smile like that, and the way the tight t-shirt he's wearing under his coat had shifted up just a bit to show some of the skin at his hip...

Well. Your friends did tease you for having a type. 

“Pissing like this all day, no wonder no one else is out,” he sighs and gestures to the rain, that had started pouring that morning lightly and showed no signs of stopping. 

“A little dreary,” you admit. “But I don’t mind it.” 

“Might have guessed,” he smiles again and god he really should warn a guy before he does that, because your heart just flutters, and the rain may be cold but you’re suddenly very warm. 

You shrug. “Nowhere else to go right now anyway. May as well enjoy the day for what it is.” 

He nods, and you hope he hasn’t noticed your shivering. You’ve got your warmest jacket on, but the wind and rain are really doing a number on you. 

“You know, the shop down the way has matches. Why don’t we go together and pick some up? Can at least be smoking, if we’re going to be out in this,” he says. 

“Oh, that’s okay, I-” you pause. ‘Have no money to my name and so can’t pay you back for the matches and the last thing I want to do is take advantage of your kindness, you gorgeous man’ is not the way you want to end your sentence, but it’s the most truthful way. 

Somehow, he knows, or maybe your situation is more evident than you think. “Let me get them, don’t worry about money or whatever. Only matches anyway, and I don’t mind doing a favor for someone as handsome as you.” 

You blush. So forward! But you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to yourself that you loved it. There was always the worry, the what-if that the guy you’re talking to isn’t gay (and worse yet might chase you off down the road if they gleaned that you were, and even worse if they sussed out that you were trans too.) It was a weight off your shoulders to have that what-if erased, especially after the day you’d been having. 

“Long as I’m not keeping you from anything,” you manage as you stumble over your tongue.

“Nah. My band is in that building there,” he points to the nearby studio, a nondescript dark brick building. “Recording, but we were on overdub number 9000 and I was dying, so I snuck out.” 

“They’ll have noticed you’re gone by now!” 

“Yeah, but they aren’t out looking for me yet, so I’m safe,” he grins. “Come on. It’ll get us out of the rain for a bit, and we can finally light up.” 

You nod, and follow him down the street, both of you huddled over as the rain pours slightly harder. 

“Roger,” he offers his name with another smile, and are your knees weak or are you just that cold? 

“Y/N,” you offer back. 

“Y/N,” he repeats softly. “So, what are you doing out here anyway?” 

You bite your lip anxiously. “It’s awkward. Lost my flat today; contract was up and the landlord waited until today to drop on me that he had a new tenant all lined up already, willing to pay triple what I was paying.” 

“Fucker,” Roger spits. “Where are your things?” 

“You know those bushes and shrubs we were standing by?” you ask.

He nods.

“I’ve got my two suitcases hidden in there for now, so it might be a little less obvious why I’m wandering the streets with no apparent purpose,” you continue. 

He gives you a look, and before you can stop him, jogs back to the bushes. 

He returns more slowly, weighed down by the suitcase in each hand, his still unlit cigarette carefully crooked in between his fingers on his left hand. 

“You didn’t have to-” 

“We are not leaving your shit to be stolen,” he interrupts with a shocked laugh. “Honestly. No, I’ll help you carry and look after it.” 

He won’t hand over the heavier of the suitcases as you reach the shop, no matter how much you try and insist. 

“Look,” you gently grab his shoulder before you go into the shop. “I’m not...trying to take advantage of anyone’s charity. With this. I mean, I wasn’t raised that way.” 

He cocks his head. “American.” 

“What?” 

“Thought the accent seemed off. You’ve been here awhile, but not long enough to sound like you didn’t move here from elsewhere. And only an American would say something silly like that.” 

“You caught me,” you smile. “But really-” 

“Please,” he interrupts as he leads the way into the shop. “Let me help. I want to, or I wouldn’t be here, I promise. I’d be on overdub 3 million with no voice left at all in the studio instead.” 

“And dying for a smoke?” 

“That too,” he replies as he speeds through the transaction for the matches, not that the clerk seems to care. 

“I don’t mean to pry,” he says as you both step back outside, the rain still pouring away heavily. “But where are you planning on going?” 

“Isn’t that the question,” you sigh, watching as he motions you over off the sidewalk so he can set your suitcase down and light his cigarette. “I don’t know? I think the park nearby could be safe...but I don’t think I can just choose a bench and sleep, the police will come shoo me away I’m sure. But if I rest, and go from bench to bench, maybe...” 

He takes off his sunglasses, and you’re met with big blue eyes, full of concern. “What about your job?” 

You nod. “It’s been a week, for me. I got let go a few days ago. They could afford to keep me, or one of my friends at the shop...and I lost that battle.” 

He frowns, and takes your cigarette from you, lighting it with his. “Well, I don’t know if I have a job for you, I have to check on that. But I’ve got a room, or I will have in a day.” 

You’re in awe over the most casually romantic thing anyone’s done for you before, his thing with the cigarettes, but you manage a weak gasp. “You don’t know me.” 

“Not yet I don’t,” he agrees as he hands back your cigarette. “But I tell you what. You come back to the studio with me. Get out of the rain, have dinner with us. Then we’ll all know you well.” 

“But-” 

“I won’t press it if you aren’t comfortable with it,” he interrupts gently. “But I do need a new roommate. My old one, our singer, has been dating the guitarist for a bit, and they’re finally moving in together. So I need someone in the room regardless. And we may not know each other too well yet, but I know you’re handsome, kind, and I don’t want to see you out on the streets. Personally, I think something aligned so that we’d meet up today.” 

“It isn’t that I’m uncomfortable with it,” you admit. “I just...if my family knew I was taking someone’s kindness like this, the things they’d say...” 

“Where are they, back in America?” Roger asks as he picks up your suitcase, and starts down the road towards the studio, with you on his heels. 

“Yeah,” you reply. 

“Well then, sounds like what they think doesn’t matter for this situation, because they aren’t here for it,” he continues. “You’re here, it’s your situation, and you get to decide what you want to do about it.” 

“That...is a very good point,” you say. 

“Every now and again I manage them,” he grins, even as the tree you’re passing dumps a decent puddle of water on him, nearly putting out his cigarette. “So. What do you, Y/N, want to do?” 

Your mother would scream at you to be wary of strangers, to trust your gut.

But your gut feels fine. In fact, this is the safest and happiest you’ve felt in weeks. It could be a mistake, yes, but it doesn’t feel like one, to trust Roger. 

“I want to try and find a new job, right away,” you start. “So I can start paying my portion of the rent at your flat, if you mean it, and you’ll really have me in as a roommate.” 

He stops in front of the door to the studio, and somehow that smile is even brighter than before, and your heart flutters yet again. 

“And...” you take a deep breath. “I may be misreading a signal, and if I am, please tell me and I’ll back off. But...I’m getting the feeling maybe I could end up being more. Than a roommate. And I would like that too, a lot, and there’s one other thing I should just ask rather than stumbling around it but-” 

He giggles as he stamps out his cigarette, too damp for him to finish. 

You toss yours aside and do the same. “Do I have to wait to kiss you until we get to your flat? Or can I do that now, before we go in?” 

The kiss he gives you, sweet and tinged with tobacco, is the answer you’d been hoping for. 

The door swings open, and a tall, curly-haired man scoffs. “There you fucking are!” 

“Here I fucking am,” Roger smirks. 

“Where did you go?” 

“Out for a smoke,” Roger replies taking your free hand as he pulls you along with him into the studio, past the man. “Made a friend too. Well, more than a friend, but it’s early.” 

“I...what...” the poor thing ruffles the curls that are long enough to hit his shoulders. “Fine, whatever. Pleased to meet you, ah...” 

“Y/N,” you say. “I’m taking over the spare room Roger said he’ll have in a day or so?” 

The man nods, and gestures to himself. “Brian. Freddie’s moving in with me tonight, actually. Thought it would take longer, but we realized he’s slowly dragged over most of his things already when he’s come over to mine, so there’s not much left to move.” 

“That’s fine,” Roger says, taking your other suitcase from you and setting both of them aside. “We might not need the extra room anyway.” 

It feels too forward to do more than nod, but in your head, you’re thrilled at the thought of going home with him tonight. And even better, the thought of coming home to him each day. It’s early days and you know better than to hang onto it all too hard, to presume it will all go perfectly. 

But all the same, this is the best and most secure you’ve felt about anything in ages, and when he introduces you to the rest of the band (the mentioned Freddie and their bassist, John), holding your hand and squeezing it ever so gently, it feels like another sign. 

This is going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. More than okay, even. 

The way things are looking, you might even be happy. 


End file.
